Camp Confidence
by s'no-princess49
Summary: Distraught and alone after the death of his godfather, Harry gets an idea...and somehow is jerked into a strange new place. Meeting some new faces, but not forgetting old ones, Harry embarks on his next adventure.Independent/Confident Harry Eventually H/G
1. It's my fault, what's the point?

**Ok guys, here it is. This plot bunny was jumping around in my brain for so long, just hammering away at my mind, that I'm not actually positive that I don't have any brain damage. So I figured I should get it down before the harmless, fluffy, white bunny morphed into something more dangerous. Like that rabid bunny in Monty Python *shivers. Anyways, it's starting off uber sad and stuff, but never fear! It shall cheer up! R&R...I'd love your input. Enjoy!

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**Tick tock. Tick tock. Tick tock.**

The seconds hand on the cheap and half broken clock hanging crookedly on the bland white-washed wall produced the only sound in the small, decrepit room, however unobtrusive that minor sound was. A figure was lying still on a thin mattress, barely moving except for the small rising and falling of his chest. He was impassive, even though the tears were rolling down his face in crystal rivers, falling in pools on his grey cotton t-shirt. His bones jutted out of the ragged clothes that were never really his. For one moment, the boy, almost a man, thought about the unfairness of his life, how cruel it was to have everything ripped away from you the moment you got it, or to have it taunted in your face, just too far away to capture it. However, his mind track immediately veered off again with the thought of Sirius. His heart contracted, and his body let out a huge sob, almost against his will. No, he _deserved_ everything that had ever happened to him.

58. 58 people had died since Voldemort had come back to power with help of _Harry's _blood. He had essentially helped Voldemort kill all of those people, as without his blood, the Dark Lord would have still been a spectre, unable to wreck the havoc he was now. No matter that the blood was taken against his will, and that he was tied, unable to move and in incredible pain. Cedric had died for him that night, the first of many. He repeated the names of all the people that had been killed, a mantra inside of his head, following the steady beat of the clock. Each name stabbed him like a physical wound, until he curled up into a ball, trying to hold himself together; as if without this tight hold on himself, he would disappear.

So caught up in the living nightmare inside of his mind, he didn't notice the signals that his body was sending; Harry had not eaten in 4 days, and had only had a mouthful of water the day before. His muscles were cramping up and starting to deteriorate, the lack of vital liquids and foods were making his thoughts choppy, making him slowly loosen the grip on who he was and his sanity. As the hours and days wore on, he soon started to take responsibility for all of the deaths that had happened at Voldemort's hand, even before he was born; as though he had cast the killing curse on them himself. His already fragile mental state soon shattered, and the sudden barrage of tears only made him loose the necessary fluids faster. He was broken, and with no one there for him, no helpful shoulder, hell, not even one letter, there was no one to pick up the pieces.

He stood up, muscles protesting against the movement, and managed to stagger a few steps before he collapsed right into a pile of rotting food. His aunt and uncle had taken the Order's threat seriously, and everyday had shoved a tray of food through the cat flap that had been installed into his door four years before. Harry had been so caught up in his grief and other such self-harming thoughts that he had not noticed the disgusting stench that was radiating of the pile of food and into the room, penetrating every surface. However, even now, he did not notice the smell, and instead crawled over to his trunk filled with his school things. He had not bothered to unpack anything, but it was just a jumble of clothes and books, bits and magical baubles. He was going to look for the photo album of his parents that Hagrid had given to him at the end of his first year however his bloodshot eyes caught sight of something else.

The silver dagger he used in potions glittered in his palm. The rubies shone a blood red, a stark contrast to the gleaming metal surrounding the jewels. The mental pain from his thoughts was overpowering, to such a huge extent that he simply had to find an outlet for the pain. As he held the dagger up to the light, a thought struck him, and at that instant, he felt a familiar jerk behind his navel. That jerk was simply too much. He landed hard on a mahogany floor, barely noticing his surroundings, and an instant later, he was emptying his stomach of its stomach fluid, the only left in his digestive trait, before blackness overtook him.

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**Ooooh! Cliffhanger! Sorry about that one...I wanted to post something, and I felt like this would be a good place to stop. I have another chapter started, so it hopefully won't be too long before I update again. Love it? Hate it? Tell me!! **


	2. I'm fine

**So, here's the second chapter. I'm sorry it took so long to get out, but I made it extra long, so hope you like it!**

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Harry groggily returned to consciousness, and by force of habit, stuck his right hand out for his glasses, only to discover that there was nothing there; not his glasses, not his wand, hell, there wasn't even a bedside table! His eyes shot open, and he found that he could see clearly.

"Must have fallen asleep with my glasses on again," he thought, before he froze.

"Where-the hell am I?" whispered Harry under his breath, his heartbeat accelerating as he gazed around the unfamiliar surroundings. The room had a high-vaulted Victorian ceiling, with pastel colours swirling slowly into a soothing pattern, confirming that he was in a magical place. One entire wall was made of glass, overlooking a grassy hill sloping on a gentle downward towards a sandy beach on a sparkling lake. Sunlight streamed in, dancing on some beds that were similar to the one he was laying on. His eyes narrowed as he inspected the beds, then he groaned inaudibly. The beds were hospital beds, no doubt, though the mattresses were significantly larger and thicker. His bed was pushed against the opposite wall from the glass wall, but this wall was a light blue. He was just admiring the deep mahogany floor when his eyes set upon a stand with several bags of clear fluid in it; one with a clear tube leading into his arm. He was wearing Gryffindor –coloured pyjama bottoms, though he was certain he did not own any bottoms that colour. Glancing around, he couldn't see his wand or any of his personal objects anywhere. It was only then did he truly recognize how serious the situation truly was.

He turned on his side, curling up into the fetal position instinctively.

"Great," he thought, a few traitor tears leaking out from his pain-filled eyes, "I'm in an unknown place, without my wand, with some sort of device that's probably pumping me with poison or," he realized with growing horror, "Veratisum, so whoever captured me can find out information about the Order. They also obviously know about my life, and how I am a Gryffindor…mind you, that's probably common knowledge. But here I am, helpless. And Sirius is still dead. And I'm still alone."

He had a small, desperate hope that he was in the Room of Requirement, and that Hogwarts was taking care of him, but he knew that was extremely unlikely. If he had been, his wand would have been in his hand now, as he wanted it desperately; though he knew it was irrational, the only thing he wanted more than his wand was a shirt. He felt exposed, and was scared of looking too closely at his torso. He had always been scrawny, but this was ridiculous. His ribs were jutting out from his sides like gills on a fish, his hips protruding from his sides. He thought he should feel hungry or sick, but he just felt…empty.

It was then that he heard footsteps that were growing louder. He pulled himself into an upright position, eyes searching for something, anything, that he could defend himself with, but came up from his search empty. Whoever had captured him had done a very thorough job of stripping the room. He could find not sharp objects, no hard edges, nothing. He tried pulling the tube out of his arm, but found that his hand could find not purchase on the object, his fingers skirting a few centimetres away from the tube. He had just decided to use his fists to fight when large double doors to his right opened. Harry stiffened at the noise, his breathing accelerating as adrenaline pumped through his system, preparing him for the fight. What he was expecting, he wasn't sure. A battalion of Death Eaters, or the Dark Lord Moldy-Shorts himself? Whatever image had his fists clenched was never seen, as a petite woman strode in.

She couldn't have been a day over twenty-five, her caramel hair pulled back in a high ponytail. She was dressed in white capris and a fitted white blouse. Upon seeing that her charge was awake, her eyes widened comically, and her lips widened to reveal pearly-white teeth, her mouth in a delighted smile.

"Thank god you're finally awake, deary, that was a close one! We almost didn't get to you in time!" she said, her voice full of delight as she bustled over to him. She reached under his bed, and pulled out a small cabinet. She pulled it open, and Harry, who had been looking on in unwilling interest and horror, saw that its insides were similar to a muggle refrigerator, except it did not have a cord or plug as far as he could tell. It was his turn for his eyes to widen as he saw the woman pull out a massive tray, so large it could not have possibly fit in the cabinet, filled with tiny vials he recognized as potions.

"Okay, I'm sorry for this Hun, but you've gotta drink all of these. David made them taste as good as he could, but they're still going to taste bitter. You can have food after you have these though, so that's something to look forward to afterwards. But just think about the long term effects, and how amazing you'll feel afterwards!" she spouted out enthusiastically. All this while, Harry was frozen with shock by this woman's appearance and her cheery attitude, but he finally managed to stammer something out.

"W-who are y-you? G-get away from me! I-I won't d-do drink anything!" The woman, instead of getting upset, smacked her forehead.

"Knew I forgot something," she muttered under her breath, shaking her head, before waving her wand, making a table appear and setting the tray down on it. She sat down on the foot of the bed, and said, "My name is-well, everyone always calls me Nursie. But Harry, seriously, what is the last thing you remember thinking before you got portkeyed here?" Her doe-like eyes were soft, but very serious.

Harry pursed his brow, and thought. He was feeling oddly at ease; something about this woman was strangely comforting, almost like a blend between Madame Pomphey and Mrs. Weasly.

"Umm, well, I-" he ducked his head and blushed as he remembered, "I thought about-ending my life," he said in a tiny voice. He felt obscenely guilty about having that thought, but he wouldn't deny that the thought had some appeal, even at that moment. Not having to worry about saving the world, seeing everyone he cared about getting slaughtered before his eyes...

Nursie pursed her lips.

"Yes, you did have that thought, and it was that thought that probably saved your life," Harry opened his mouth, but she cut him off. "You see, you had not eaten in a very long time, but even then, you maybe could have survived, but you _had_ to stop drinking as well. The human body can survive three, at most five, days without water, so you might have lived for, what, another day, if even that, if you hadn't drank again. And really, you desperately needed medical attention.

Where we are now is known as Camp Confidence. You see, being a wizard can have its ups and downs. Wizards, teen wizards in particular, have always had more powerful emotions than muggles, and it is that extra emotion that helps power our spells. But the problem is, as you found out, if something horrific happens in a teen wizards life, they normally feel so traumatised and upset that they would do anything to end the pain. In your case, you starved yourself, unconsciously killing yourself. We couldn't help you then. But when you thought of killing yourself…" Nursie drifted off.

Harry was still completely confused. What did that one particular thought have anything to do with getting moved over to this 'Camp'? Then there was the matter of where he was. He had never heard of Camp Confidence, and though he tried to be wary, the person in front defied such suspicions. He was eager to find out where this tale was leading, so he prompted her to continue.

"Oh yes, dear me, my thoughts are all a flutter today. You probably have no idea what that conscious thought had to do with where we are now, right?" Harry nodded his agreement.

"Well, for that, we have to go back into C.C's history. You see, about 600 years ago, there was a huge dragon war. Wizards had been trying to enslave them, and the dragons rebelled. So many wizards were killed, trying to defend their children and families. Afterwards, thousands of young wizards and witches were left orphaned and, distraught over their parents' deaths, many tried, and succeeded to kill themselves. In only a few years, the British wizarding population was practically extinct. Years after, when we were still recovering from the losses, we decided that we had to prevent a mass suicide like what had happened then. A group of scholars dedicated their lives to finding a way, and a few decades later, we found a way."

"What was it?" blurted out Harry, his attention captured hook, line and sinker.

"They found a way to manipulate the true essence of magic." Harry's jaw dropped, gaping openly at the woman on his bed.

"I know, it is an incredible feat, and how it was achieved, we will never know. Anyways, they managed to attach a portkey spell that activates when one possessing a sufficient amount of magic has a serious self-harming thought and would go through with it unless stopped. Like yourself," she remarked, looking him straight in the eye. "So if Camp Confidence had never been built, then I have no doubt in saying that you would have been discovered dead many days ago." That sentence reminded of an essential piece of information.

"Wait, how long have I been here?" he questioned, "because the Order is going to be worried about where I am."

At this, Nursie smirked. "You have been unconscious for nine days. The Order of the Phoenix found out that you were gone five days ago. They are frantic, and think that you have been kidnapped by Voldemort," she let out a chuckle as she said her next sentence, "I believe Dumbledore was so shocked by your disappearance that he fainted." Harry's eyes widened, then he snorted with laughter as he pictured his seven-foot, ever-composed Headmaster collapsing into a dead faint. He decided not to question how Nursie knew about the Order, and about the reactions of the secret group.

It was just occurring to his body that he was safe, and as he felt the adrenaline begin to wear off, his eyelids began to drop, and he laid his head back on the pillows again.

"So what is this Camp Confidence, anyways? Do people just get dropped in here, then strapped down so they don't try and kill themselves?" Harry was so tired he did not realize that he had been one of 'those people' that he was speaking about.

Nursie chuckled. "You're going to get the full guided-tour after you've recovered, so hold your trousers on. But really, you need to drink these," she gestured to the potions, "so you can get the I.V. out."

Harry had forgotten all about the mysterious tube in his arm. He was just about to start panicking when Nursie, wrinkling her nose, explained.

"It's a muggle device that is used to get the medication directly into the bloodstream. Normally, healers don't use them, but here, so many of our patients are unwilling to drink anything we give them, are unconscious, or are in seriously critical condition, so bad that we cannot wait for the potion to kick in, like yourself. For example, we have a Healing potion to speed up the natural healing process, a Soothing draft to eliminate pain, and a Calming draught to keep you from become hysterical. That's why you've let me explain this so calmly, because otherwise I have no doubt that I would have had to restrain you, which I hate doing. But now," she finished off, presenting the bottles with a flourish.

Harry gulped. He may have been brave, but he certainly wasn't stupid. Having much experience with such potions, he knew the bitter taste and burning sensation was horrible…and that was for only one vial. There had to be fifty on that tray! Hoping to stall for time, he asked what they were all for.

She sighed.

"Well, I can't simply list them all off, because it would be much too long and complicated. But I suppose you should know what they will be helping with. Now, from my diagnosis, I was able to discover many things about your life and what it has been like. You lived in a small enclosed space for most, if not all of your childhood. At that essential time of growing, the lack of space and exercise caused your growth to be stunted, some of your bones to grow wrong, and your muscles, well, they were practically non-existent for so long that I am surprised you came out of it this well. Then, many of your bones and muscles had been broken, fractured and ripped, then were healed all wrong, so that caused a huge new host of problems. On top of that, you received many blows to the head, back and neck, which is territory that should never be crossed. Many of your nerve connections have been severed due to that abuse on your back, and also, you can't bend as far as you should be able to without feeling immense pain, which is due to a fractured spinal disk in the bottom of your spine, which fused to the bone with a sharp edge digging deep into the cartilage. You have received a crushed windpipe several times, with is due to strangulation. It never completely recovered, and because of this, it was harder for you to get air into your lungs. Then, your head," she finally took a breath after all of this had come rushing out in a huge flood, "was so messed up that you so lucky that you only received what damage you did. You got anywhere from ten to twenty separate concussions, though you had so many intercepting concussions. You realize how lucky you are, right?" she said, looking his straight in the eye. "If anyone of those concussions had caused a bleed, the pressure in your head would've increased till blood was flowing out of your eyes, mouth, nose and ears. Then, eventually, you would've died, after multiple seizures, which by themselves cause serious brain and other physical damage. And that was only what could've happened with your head. Think about how much else of your body was messed up."

During the entire tirade, Harry's eyes had been getting wider, so by the end of the rather gory retelling of his injuries, his eyes resembled Dobby's. Wordlessly, he reached his hand out, grabbed a bottle, and poured it all down in one swig as instructed. He gasped at the burning sensation it caused, and though it was unpleasant to say the least, it was better than Snape's tear-jerking potions.

He tipped the various bottles' liquids back down into his throat for so long it seemed as though the constant streams of liquid would never end. Some of the potions actually tasted quite pleasant, but as warned, many were bitter or created the burning sensation again. Finally, the last vial on the tray had been emptied, and Harry slumped back onto his pillow in relief.

"Now, those won't start to kick in until you are asleep, so you have to take the Dreamless Sleep potion. Otherwise the pain will just wake you up again. You'll be asleep for as long as your body needs to recover for, so don't be surprised if you only wake up in a few days."

Sighing, Harry went to take of his glasses, knowing that he would be sleeping, only to poke himself in the eye. Surprise overcoming the pain, both of his hands shot to his face, trying to find the glasses that allowed him to see.

"Oh yes, and when you were asleep before, I fixed your eyesight. Quite simple really, just a simple potions and a few spells…"she trailed off, seeing the look of shock on Harry's face.

"Haven't you ever wondered why almost no one wears glasses in the wizarding world? But I wonder," she muttered under her breath, "why the so-called healer at your school didn't heal your vision before."

Harry didn't hear the last comment, however, as he was floating along on the dream, turned reality, of never having to wear glasses again. Too content to protest, he let Nursie pour the very last potion into the hero's mouth.

His eyes drooped, and he though, "I wonder if Ginny would like me more without glasses" before the potion overtook him, and he fell asleep.

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**There. Done. Next chapter I'll be introducing my OC, and Harry will be better physically. However, mentally, he still has a long way to go. Also, he'll get to explore the camp, so you can have a better idea where he will be spending his summer. Review!!**


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